To Have, Not to Hold
by Slinky-and-the-BloodyWands
Summary: Young, widowed, and now wealthy, Hermione must play spy. She has decided that in order to uncover the identity of the new Dark Lord she must marry the now penniless Lucius Malfoy, but she never thought she’d end up melting in ice's arms or his son's. . .
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer for entire story: I do not own Harry Potter or anything else you may recognize.**

**Summary: Young, widowed, and now wealthy, Hermione Granger must play spy for the sake of the Order. She has decided that in order to uncover the identity of the new Dark Lord she must marry the now penniless Lucius Malfoy, but she never thought she'd end up melting in ice's arms or his son's. . . **

**Setting: Harry Potter defeated Voldemort in what was supposed to be his seventh year and became a bit of a hermit shortly after. That was three years ago. Since then Lucius Malfoy has been re-imprisoned and released and his son's name cleared of past charges. This has been adapted to fit the events of the seventh book, minus the epilogue. **

**Rating: R. Most of it is more PG-13 but in later chapters it becomes a very 'hard' R. Go to sleep, kiddies. **

_**To Have, Not to Hold**_

**Chapter 1**

"Good morning, my love," Hermione whispered.

The picture in her hands was not as old as it looked. Its worn edges and folded corners came from the wear of a despairing woman holding it against her chest many a night. A tear rolled down Hermione's cheek landing beside the red-headed man in the photograph. He side-stepped the salty droplet, wagging a finger playfully at his widow. A lopsided grin spread across his face as he crossed his arms and stood back, trying to look dignified and sporadically touching the auror's badge pinned onto his chest.

"Ronald, you idiot," she softly laughed, tucking the photo into her robe pocket. She leaned over the table for her mug of steaming coffee. It was still a good hour before dawn but she would never be able to get back to sleep with such a heavy heart.

It had been almost a year since his death.

"No," she reminded herself bitterly—his murder.

_Death_ made it sound as if some illness had taken him, but nothing could have been further from the truth. He had been a healthy, young auror, happy and more confident than he had ever been in school. Hermione had been, and still was, the assistant to the English Ministry Diplomat of Foreign Affairs, Jenna Tompkins, and Ron had been assigned to be a body guard for his wife and Lady Tompkins. They had wed shortly after Voldemort's fall (against the approval of several of their elders), and the couple was to have celebrated their second wedding anniversary the following weekend. And then a group of Death Eaters had taken him from her.

"'Mione, dear." Molly Weasley walked into the kitchen, her granddaughter Lana, Hermione's niece, on one hip. "You mustn't make a habit of this. You'll never get any rest."

Hermione smiled at her mother-in-law. "Does Miss Lana still have a tummy ache?" she asked, holding out her arms. The little girl pouted, and Molly sat her down in Hermione's lap.

"I just came down to fetch a bit of drought for the poor thing. I swear, if it's her cousins who've been feeding her their father's concoctions again, I'll have both of their ears."

Hermione rocked Lana slightly as Molly ransacked the cabinet. The Burrow was quite full this morning, but it wasn't near as crowded as it had been in the past. When Molly's wealthy cousin Bertha from the States had died, she had left the sum of her inheritance to Molly's family. The money hadn't changed the Weasleys in the least, but it had given their little house a long deserved makeover. They had just finished adding east and west wings to their once tiny home.

Molly had divided the fortune between her remaining children, insisting that she'd rather see them use it for good now rather that have something to look forward to in the will. Ron and Hermione were going to buy a place of their own, but they hadn't gotten the chance. Hermione was now the sole owner of the vault. It and her very well paying position with Lady Tompkins gave her a place in the Daily Prophet's columns often enough.

"Here it is!" Molly said, pulling out a bottle. Lana squirmed in Hermione's lap at the sight of the chalky tasting potion. "Now quit burying her face in your auntie's hair and be a big girl."

Still frowning, Lana faced the common torture amongst children and swallowed the foul medicine as if she were taking poison. Hermione barely managed to stop herself from laughing at her young niece.

"Now off to bed with you," Molly added, gesturing on even as Lana slipped off of Hermione and teetered toward her bedroom.

Molly took a seat at the table, summoning a cup and the coffee pot with a flick of her wand. She poured herself a cup and looked over at Hermione. "Would you like some breakfast, dear. You look as thin as a rail."

"Oh, no thanks, Molly," Hermione said. "I should probably be getting back to my own flat—the neighbors are starting to wonder whether or not I still live there."

Molly chuckled softly. It was true; Hermione more often came to the Burrow after work than she did her own apartment, not that any one of the Weasleys were complaining. The Weasleys loved having her over since most of their children had moved out and the little ones (there were five at last count) enjoyed their aunt's company so long as she wasn't trying to make them learn their letters.

"You have clothes here. Plus, Bill is supposed to stop by to pick up Lana, Arty, and Constance early this morning. You haven't talked to him in ages." For good measure, she added, "And, no, Fleur's not coming. She's in Paris for the week to see the latest in formal wear."

There was a loud pop, and Bill appeared opposite the two women. "Well, speak of the devil." Molly grinned. "Everyone's up and about so _early._"

"I won't disagree, Mum," Bill said. "I need you to go wake Dad quickly. There's been an incident at the Ministry."

Molly's eyes widened, but she didn't question him. Instead, she apparated to her room without hesitation. Hermione looked up at Bill, studying his worried expression. The thick red beard he'd grown to cover his scar hardened face did nothing to mask his frown. The thought that someone as collected as Bill could become so frazzled made Hermione panic.

"What happened?" she snapped. "Was anyone hurt?"

Bill only had time to nod before two pops sounded and Molly and Arthur stood before the breakfast table.

"Your mother said something happened at the Ministry?" Arthur looked to his son.

"It was a Death Eater attack," Bill breathed, "entirely in Voldemort's name. The Mark was raised only half an hour ago."

"Was anyone in the Ministry that early?" Molly asked.

"Apparently a meeting had been arranged, but the aurors weren't sure whether the Death Eaters knew anything about it. They only used the killing curse once—on one of the guards, a Rufus McNook."

"That poor man," Molly whispered, holding to her husband's arm.

"There were two more fatalities as well," Bill added. "It seems the Death Eaters were trying to collapse the central part of the building, an act they would not be able to achieve in broad daylight. Those inside were crushed. They've identified the Ministry employ as Greg Grayson."

"That young chap in the Treasury Department?" Arthur asked. "That poor lad was only a few years older than you, Hermione. Who was the other, Bill?"

Bill's frown deepened. "Narcissa Malfoy. She had arranged the before hours meeting, which is the reason why they find it hard to believe that the Death Eaters knew about those inside."

"Malfoy's wife. . ." Arthur took a seat at the table, rubbing his temples. "Well, you're probably right there, son. Lucius Malfoy might've been one of the buggers over the attack, if he's been drawn back into his old crowd."

Bill lifted his gaze in agreement. "I can't believe they let that slimy bastard stay out of Azkaban and kept his brat from going there all because of some sloppy evidence and few extra knuts in their pockets. Maybe one of them will confess their involvement after they've seen what their dirty deeds have gotten them."

Hermione wanted to disagree—she was one of the few who wasn't very bothered by the ministry's decision to lessen Draco Malfoy's time, even if she was still somewhat suspicious of the elder Malfoy's virtuous pleas at his hearing following Voldemort's fall. The Malfoy family had been one of the few who had avoided major punishment from the reestablished ministry, mostly because of a certain chosen wizard who had voiced confidence in the family's proposed remediation. Nevertheless, the Weasleys, and most of society, were in obvious doubt when it came to ex-Death Eaters, and Hermione wasn't going to try to crush their hopes.

"We could use a break like that," Hermione said. By _we_ she was of course referring to the Order of the Phoenix.

Though Dumbledore had died over four years ago, the Order had remained strong and running. They had thought that their work would be done after Harry defeated Lord Voldemort a year after the Headmaster's demise but such was not the case. Voldemort's followers had grown in numbers during his reign, and their heinous actions had become more frequent of recent. It seemed that they had turned their Dark Lord into some sort of god-like figure, gone but not dead.

"It would be nice to have some good from such a tragedy," Arthur agreed. "Did witnesses see who led the attacks? Was it the Priest?"

"Who else?" Bill groaned.

"The Priest?" Hermione asked.

"While you and Lady Tompkins were visiting China last week, the Daily Prophet was coining a nickname for the new leader of the Death Eaters. There was a whole article on how they had formed some sort of cult around the one they believe to hold Voldemort's powers. The leader wears a strip of snake skin as a slash, what is believed to be old sheddings from Nagini. They call him the Priest."

"Leave it to the papers to add fuel to the fire," Hermione hissed. "If murderers aren't frightening enough for the public, turn them into some sort of religious fanatics. That twist probably sent their sales skyrocketing. I hope it was worth it."

"You're not wrong," Bill said. "That brings me to the next point. I think we should call a meeting."

Arthur nodded. "Go pass the news. We'll tell Ginny. Tell everyone to meet tonight to discuss new developments."

Hermione snorted, watching Bill nod and apparate. A meeting would do no good. The Order had been letting the Death Eaters get away for too long. Of course, without any new information getting to them, they were virtually useless.

"I hate to admit that I prefer action over talk, especially since I'm up for Jenna's diplomatic position," Hermione said.

Molly shook her head. "But what can we do without a plan of action, dear?"

Hermione sighed. "What indeed. . ."


	2. Chapter 2

_**To Have, Not to Hold**_

**Chapter 2**

"Have you heard a word I've said?"

Hermione looked down into her tea. The red head in front of her gave her a smug smile, lifting a butterbeer to her painted lips. Exactly thirty seconds later, Hermione's eyes shot up.

"What was that, Gin?"

Ginny leaned forward, an elbow holding her off of the table top. "I asked you how the salad was, in a very sarcastic tone, of voice as I munched on my very greasy roast sandwich. And then I went on about my delightful evening with the Japanese healer for abut twenty minutes, describing in detail the sensational massage he gave me after supper. Did you catch any of that?"

Hermione raised a brow. "No, but perhaps I should have paid more attention to that last part. . . Did you say twenty minutes?" She spied a glance at her watch and all but jumped from the table. "Damn it, I'm late!"

Ginny grabbed her friend's arm and pulled her back down into her seat. "Jenna gave you an hour, remember? Calm down already."

Hermione sighed, rubbing her temples and relaxing somewhat. A waitress walked past the two girls, giving them a strange look before deciding not ask them if they wanted dessert. The restaurant had cleaned out since Hermione had delayed lunch for another two hours to finish a report, leaving Ginny very annoyed.

"You've been a bit distracted lately," Ginny added.

Hermione poked at her salad wondering why on earth she had ever wanted to the rabbit food option from the menu. "Of course I have," she said. "The Ministry's in shambles at the moment. Repairs are still under way, so half of this week's meetings have been rescheduled. Jenna has received two threats since the attack, and the Americans may be rethinking the foreign affairs administration clean-up the Ministry requested over three months ago."

Another sip of butterbeer had Ginny giggling. "Considering a change in career?" At Hermione's glare, she continued, "'Mione, dearest, you need a vacation. Jenna doesn't work half as hard as you do. And how are you going to live up to being the youngest female diplomat the Ministry's ever had if you kill yourself before you get the position, you workaholic."

"How can you be so, so damned laid back? I thought a healer-in-training would have the toughest job in London, especially so soon after an attack, but. . ."

"But I don't take work home with me." Ginny pulled a folded newspaper from her bag and slid it across the table. "Check out the headlines. Say, how'd the meeting go last night?"

Hermione choked on a nonexistent piece of lettuce, sending daggers with a flash of her eyes. "We're in public," she hissed.

"And I'm vague," Ginny stated, leaning even closer. "Sorry, I couldn't make it—the hospital needed me. I know Mum's pissed that I didn't show. Did anything important happen?"

Hermione shook her head, unfolding the paper Ginny had given her without actually looking down at it. The meeting had been a complete waste of time, a few hours of arguments and spirited suggestions that common sense stomped. "As usual, we talked a lot and did little. Everyone had something to say about the attack but nothing to actually do that would take advantage of it."

She shrugged her shoulders as if asking herself a question. When she looked up, her lips were pursed with anger and her eyes wet with unshed tears. "Gin, is it just me or have we been doing little more than chit-chat since our school years? I thought that after Ron. . . I thought that there would at least be an arrest. You would think that something like that would fuel the Order to fight, but they just let it pass. 'Oh what a tragedy!'" Hermione grasped her hands together, fingers white from the strain. "But they _did_ nothing. The darkness was all but gone, but we let it fester and rot like a sore until it was ready to come out into the light again. Since Harry did his job, everyone else has abandoned theirs. I wonder if they even realize that their letting the bad guys win."

Ginny crossed her legs, casually tapping the paper with one finger. "You're not wrong, Hermione," she said softly.

Hermione saw what Ginny had been trying to draw her attention to. It was a picture of Narcissa Black Malfoy's funeral. Several people stood in front of the gravesite covered from head to toe in black, but Lucius Malfoy stole the shot. The man stared down at the grave marker, pain written across his features. He looked up in rage at whoever had taken the picture. The scene repeated itself. "Last Respects Given to Beloved Socialite," read the headline.

"I almost feel sorry for him," the Weasley breathed. "Almost. . . I'm sure his situation was brought to light last night, no doubt by one of my brothers. The public hasn't heard much from the Malfoys in the past few years. This is big news. I wonder, did Bill or Dad happen to tell you that ol' Malfoy here is practically a pauper?"

"I had assumed his fortune wasn't quite what it used to be." Hermione ran a hand over the article, scanning it for mention of the family's financial situation. "But no one mentioned that he was broke."

Ginny grinned. "He still has his assets, but his vault holds nothing more than dust. I heard that he emptied Jr.'s over a year ago, attempting to finish paying for his prison bribes. If he's not careful, he's going to lose his oh-so-glorious manor as well."

"He could sell it for a fortune."

"No, he wouldn't. Actually, he couldn't," Ginny laughed. "He can't sale it. His parents, stupid old stuffs, made a contract out when Lucius was to take Narcissa's hand in marriage. Apparently, Lucius didn't care for much at the time, but his parents insisted the families join. The contract guaranteed that he would be cut off completely if he ever broke off the marriage or if he decided to divorce her in the future." The red head sneered, mocking the classic Malfoy expression. "That still exists, carried out even though the 'rents are long dead. In order to keep what he still has, the estate, for example, Lucius must remain married. Lucky for him, the contract didn't say anything about non-divorce breaking of the union in order to marry a new wife. But don't you feel sorry for the poor girl who's forced to marry that evil git?"

Hermione nodded, eyes still dancing over the newspaper. "Where's the ferret in this picture?"

"I didn't see him. He probably had something better to do than attend his own mother's funeral." Ginny cocked her head. "Isn't it ironic? Malfoy slime finally gets theirs—or loses it, however you'd phrase that—and my family is wealthy and happy. It's almost funny."

"Funny," Hermione agreed.

"You're in the zone again," Ginny commented.

The other witch smiled apologetically. "Sorry, Gin. I was just thinking about something."

"About what? The Malfoys? Don't feel sorry for them, 'Mione. Remember all the crap they put us through, not to mention the crimes they committed. Even if they weren't cheering the other side in the end, they still have their dirty pasts." Ginny stared at her a moment longer. "You've got the 'brainy girl' look on your face. What are you really thinking about?"

"A way to take action," Hermione muttered.

"What do you mean?" Ginny asked. She arched a brow. "You're not going to do anything dangerous, are you? Because, if you are, I want in on it."

"I've got to get back to the office," Hermione replied, standing with her bag in tow. "Jenna's calendar needs rearranging, and I dare not leave Steve with that task."

Ginny frowned. "I don't trust that look, Hermione. It's a bit desperate."

The other witch ignored her. "See you around, Gin."

Hermione walked out of the restaurant onto the busy Diagon Alley and apparated away. With a pop, she arrived at her flat. Guilt played with her for a moment. She hadn't wanted to lie to Ginny, but, if her plan was to work, it was the only way. Eventually, she would tell her—only her, but she would not do so until everything had fallen into place. The comment on the Malfoy's finances had been all Hermione needed to finally make her decision. If no one else was willing to do what must be done for the sake of the wizarding world, then she would.

The young witch snatched up a piece of parchment, sitting down at her kitchen table. She picked up a quill and held it out hesitantly.

_Do this, and there's no turning back,_ the sane part of her said.

The Gryffindor disagreed. _You can always get out, but if you don't make this move while the time is right, the opportunity will fade away. . . _

Taking a deep breath, Hermione put quill to parchment:

_Dear Mr. Lucius Malfoy,_

_I wish to give my condolences on your wife's departure, though I dare say that I did not know her very well at all. Her death was a great tragedy for the wizarding world, and she shall be properly missed. _

_Before you destroy this letter, I should bring to light that I am fully aware of your current situation. This said, I believe I can be of service to you and your estate. I have devised a plan in which the combined efforts of the two of us may be extremely beneficial to both parties. While this may be a somewhat odd letter coming from such an unfriendly source, I can assure you that my statements are entirely sincere. I believe a private meeting would be better atmosphere for further discussion. _

_You have nothing to lose from seeing me, Mr. Malfoy._

_Sincerely,_

_Hermione Granger Weasley_


	3. Chapter 3

_**To Have, Not to Hold**_

**Chapter 3**

_Your condolences are well received._

_The details of your suggestion may be better discussed Sunday afternoon when you join me for tea at four sharp. No reply is required on your part. The seal contains a portkey that shall deliver you to the manor._

_LM_

Hermione pealed the top half of the wax seal off of the parchment, gingerly holding it between thumb and index. She could feel a small lump in the green wax, a flat stone or a button most likely. Stealing a peak at her clock, she let out a sigh that she hoped would calm her nerves. It did no such thing.

Two minutes. She had two minutes left to change her mind, to back out of this disaster waiting to happen. _No, _Hermione snapped at herself, _this is a brilliant idea. I just have to follow through with it. One minute. One minute until I commit a large portion of my life to doing the dirty work. If only the Order was more willing to send out new spies, I wouldn't have to take matters into my own hands like this. _

Hermione tapped her foot, counting out the remaining thirty seconds silently. When she reached zero, she felt a familiar tug at her naval and a very uncomfortable sensation sweeping through her body. When her feet felt as if they were on safe ground again, she turned, meeting an iron gate that was presently open.

She walked past it without a second thought and the gate shut behind her. Hermione had never seen Malfoy Manor in such light or leisure, but she had automatically assumed that it would still be a gigantic, gothic beauty. She was not wrong; however, her imagination had not been privy to the fact that it would look so desolate after all these years. Though the front path was cleared and the manor itself looked quite livable, she couldn't help but wonder why no one had taken more care of the outside area. Vines and webs of intricate design decorated the huge estate, giving an almost charming air to the otherwise terrifying exterior of grayed paint and stone. The outside, what once must have been exquisite gardens that led to the area behind the house, was a tangle of weeds, a gnome's delight.

Hermione brushed off her frown of distaste, realizing how very haughty it must have looked upon her face, and followed the steps to the front door. The knocker was, naturally, a snake eating its own tail. Before Hermione could touch it, it slithered through the loop that held it to the door, making a chiming noise as it moved. Hermione absentmindedly took the moment to straighten out her gray robes, pulling down the white summer dress she was wearing beneath them and running a smoothing hand over her tamed curls.

Standing straight, the witch took a step back, preparing herself for the glare that would appear on her face at the sight of a house elf. (Though S.P.E.W had faded from her life years ago, she was still quite firm in her beliefs). She had too much riding on a first impression to begin a fight over the rights of magical creatures. This she had realized ahead of time and had prepared herself for. However, she had not prepared to find herself greeted by Draco Malfoy.

"_Granger_?" he said.

The door had barely opened, and Hermione thought her eyes were deceiving her at first. Indeed it was the 'ferret' standing at the doorway, though he was not quite the Malfoy she remembered from school. His hair was limp and hanging to his shoulders from a dodgy part down the middle. Blond locks covered most of his face in shadow, but she could tell that his skin was still as pale as ever. He looked younger than Hermione had expected—did she look that much like a student to people? And his pointed nose and chin were quite familiar. He was, of course, dressed in rich, expensive robes, but they looked ragged and wrinkled, as if he had been in the same set for a week. Only his eyes remained hidden, indiscernible in the scrunched glare that was presently gracing the witch.

Hermione caught herself staring and washed her face of emotion, a valuable little trick that she had learned in her government work with Jenna. She lifted her head, lips gently drawn straight instead of pulled tight in hate.

"That would be Mrs. Weasley."

"You didn't seem like the type of widow who would keep the title." Draco opened the door slightly, as if to make his own study of the woman. "What the hell are you doing at my manor, mudblood?"

Shooting a look of mock confusion, she inquired, "But I was under the impression that this was your father's estate, by law."

Hermione half expected him to pull a wand or at least throw out a few of his usual degrading comments. Instead, his gaze left her. "So it is," he replied. "What does the Ministry want?"

She blinked in confusion. "I'm not here with Ministry work. Your father invited me here. If you would tell him that I've arrived. . ."

"What?" Draco hissed. Hermione saw his body tense and took yet another step back, slipping a hand into her wand pocket. "You're mistaken. Leave now."

"Draco."

Hermione heard the cool voice before the wizard before her registered his own name. Draco half turned, his father's presence obvious. Lucius Malfoy stood at the foot of the right inside staircase, wearing black and a smirk that could bring a small child to tears. He looked the same as Hermione remembered from her Hogwarts' days, his face barely lined and his hair still white and ageless, hanging down both shoulders. He held his cane against the floor, the snake head's hissing mouth pointed in his audience's direction.

"Let in our guest, Draco," Lucius said and raised a brow that clearly stated his annoyance with the younger wizard.

Draco opened his mouth to speak, his gray eyes now wide. "But. . ." He let the statement hang in the air. He looked over at Hermione with an expression that she could not begin to comprehend, and then he quickly turned on his heels, walking away to some unknown part of the manor.

"Do forgive him." The senior Malfoy walked across the room. His stride was deliberate and smooth as a slither. He tapped his cane rhythmically as he approached. "He does not get out much of late. He lives to make a nuisance of himself, I do believe."

"Think nothing of it," Hermione answered, somewhat surprised with herself. She walked a few paces inside, stopping before the older wizard.

Lucius held her hand in is own, lifting it to meet his lips. Hermione took the moment to catch her breath and a peak of Mr. Malfoy's gray eyes. She didn't see deception in their depths but a refined excitement, curiosity. She felt a shiver run down her back the moment of contact.

"I've already had the tea brought to my study. If you will do me the courtesy of accompanying me, my lady. . ."

Hermione did not move. "Mr. Malfoy. When you agreed to. . ."

"I agreed to have tea with you. We will talk in the study," Lucius stated. He turned, walking away.

Hermione followed after the wizard, stepping through an unusually tall door and into what appeared to be a private library. While a mahogany desk took the center, a small table and a settee furnished the far right of the room. Steam rose from the pot that sat between two chairs on the oak top. Lucius gestured for her to sit beside him.

An awkward silence fell as they made themselves comfortable. Neither touched the tea or even glanced at the table.

"You're being quite civil," Hermione commented. She mentally slapped her forehead at the thought. Honestly, she had expected his reaction toward her to be more aggressive. After all, she was a half-blood from the opposite side of the war, someone who had been opposed to his release from prison.

Lucius smirked, and Hermione decided that Draco had learned the expression from his father. "Actually, I'm quite gracious to have you as an audience. I received your letter at a most opportune time, you see. I am not a man quick to except failure, but I had run out of options at that moment. I had no clue how to proceed. However, it seems that you may have a few ideas."

Hermione swallowed deeply, lifting her head in much the same manner as she had often done as an over zealous student. She was tempted to raise her hand and declare that she had the correct solution. "I do." And then she ran out of words. How was she supposed to explain her plan to this man?

"Don't be a tease," Lucius stated, quickly drawing her attention. "I'm afraid you may have given me the wrong impression in your owl." He stood, circling the table as if he were a bird looking down at road kill. He stopped behind her chair, a hand braced on either side of her head.

Hermione jumped when she heard his voice so close to her ear. "A young, vibrant, successful witch sends me such a declaration directly after the death of my wife. What is a man to think? What did you wish to say to me?"

"I . . . I believe that we can come to a mutually beneficial agreement, if we work together—a partnership of sorts could be established, Mr. Malfoy."

"Then you must call me Lucius, if we are to be on equal ground," the wizard stated. "And I will call you Hermione. Now, if you would do me the kindness, Hermione, of skipping these boring details and getting straight to the matter at hand. You can obviously do something for me, and I can do something for you, correct?"

Hermione nodded, hiding her amazement. Did he already know what she was here to ask?

"Now we must establish what these 'favors' are in order to make a full decision of. . . partnership." Lucius went back to his chair, sitting on its edge and bracing his weight on his cane. "I already know what I need, but why don't you tell me what you have to sell, Hermione."

The witch's mouth went as dry as parchment. "As you may know, I work for Jenna Tompkins, Diplomat of Foreign Affairs. It has not yet been publicly announced but. . ."

"Jenna will be retiring sometime in the next five years," Lucius interrupted. "This I know. And she has all but written in blood that you will take her place. You would have a high position in the Ministry. No doubt, you were about to add that you have came into a bit of wealth since your husband's death. Are you going to dazzle me with dreams of riches, Hermione?"

The young witch frowned. "Then you do not require wealth?"

Malfoy let back his head, letting out a chuckle of amusement. "I could go on for years without money, with just my name."

"But you couldn't keep your manor, now could you?" Hermione snapped.

"Oh, so that is what you're aware of? I wonder who could have told you about my little problem. Did they, by any chance, tell you that there is only one solution?"

Hermione nodded.

"Then you know that any female can feel the position quite well."

"I know that," Hermione stated. "But I am not any female. I am a witch. I am wealthy, and I am already respected in the Ministry. Within a few years, I may be one of the most powerful young witches in society."

"You're also muggle born," Lucius added.

Hermione allowed a moment of silence pass, trying to gather a proper defense. This had been the only weakness in her argument; it was a factor that she should could not possibly chance or make sound any better at all.

"Which may not be such a bad thing, considering the circumstances," Lucius said, smiling at the relief on Hermione's face. "Marriage to someone with a smaller concentration of genetic magic would mean that the wizarding world would believe that my days in Azkaban were past me. Also, it would introduce fresh blood to ward against the possibility of a squib heir being born."

Hermione's eyes widened. "Excuse me?"

Lucius leaned back, relaxing. "An heir. Narcissa had three still births before Draco was produced. When pure-blooded families marry off cousins and long-lost relations, eventually defects are sure to arise, most of them magically related. We were happy to have a baby boy that showed early signs of magic, but many families are not. The Weasley family has had more than their fair share of children, but they are no basis for an average. Most highly respected families have only one child."

"And you have Draco," Hermione said quickly. "He's the Malfoy heir."

"He was," Lucius said. His voice was low, dangerous. His eyes glinted like steel as he looked over at the witch. "He fell out of my good favor many years ago, but I did not wish to break his mother's heart by announcing his disownment—especially when dear Narcissa could no longer give me another child. Draco is already aware of his status. He remains here only because he does carry my blood."

Hermione took a shaky breath, panic filling her veins like poison. She had not expected this development.

"If I were to take a bride, she would have to agree to produce one magically able child." Lucius stared across the table. "Now that I've heard what you have to offer, and I've told you my requirement, why don't you tell me something, Hermione? What do you have to gain from such a marriage?"


	4. Chapter 4

_**To Have, Not to Hold**_

**Chapter 4**

She had an answer to that one. In fact, Hermione had rehearsed this part of her speech several times in her head. But, somehow, the wizard across from her had managed to steal away her tongue. She stared up at him, knowing that her expression was more than a plea, more desperate than a beggar's cry.

Lucius stood again, but, this time, he did not walk behind the young woman. He reached out toward his desk, snatching up a small roll of parchment and sitting it in front of Hermione's cup of tea. When Hermione didn't touch it, he took his seat back, leaning forward.

"What do you have to gain? Must I tell you, Hermione?" He shook his head, as if she had just attempted to tell him a horrid joke. "No. You know what you want. You're just that kind of witch, aren't you?"

"What is this?" Hermione asked. She blinked at her voice's sudden return.

"This?" He lifted his cane, tapping the parchment. "This is a contract. It's not a marriage certificate—paperwork meant for a later time, if things go well. No, that is a contract stating your part of the bargain. We must now discuss what I will be providing you in order for it to appear in ink. Tell me, Hermione. Tell me what you want."

_What I want. . . ._ Hermione blocked the thoughts that entered her mind as she stared into his taunting eyes, so serious in their jests. "I want. . . ." She brushed away the awkwardness, pushing her way forward. _Your chance is passing up! Tell him before it's too late._ "I wondered why you had to ask," she stated.

Giving him a smile with her honey eyes, she added, "For the sake of the contract, I will keep this brief and discuss only those factors I consider most important. Firstly, you are a Malfoy. I married a Weasley. While Weasley is a well known name, despite what you may think of the family, my husband died and left me his widow. I will reach my political peak not known as being a Weasley but as an unknown, a black horse with the maiden name Granger."

Hermione forced herself not to wince. There was a coldness in her voice that she had not expected, but, still, she felt as if she had to go on with the charade. She couldn't show Malfoy the bitter tears her soul was shedding as she spoke of her Ron in such a way, as if he was a name, a thing.

"Understandable," Lucius said after a moment of silence. "In fact, I see your point quite clearly. Do you have anything to add?"

Without a doubt, she did. He had thrown her for a loop, asking for the child, and now it was her turn to return the favor. _Not too bold, Hermione, make it believable! _She took a deep breath and put on an invisible mask she planned on wearing for a _very_ long time.

"Marrying a Malfoy, one who is, at the moment, not imprisoned and shamed for his crimes, would give me all that I need to surpass my future title of Ambassador."

Lucius raised a brow. "I see you a have a twist of your own, my dear. So, your ambitions are even higher than I expected. . . . You want me to help you rule the Ministry?"

"I expect you to help me get there, yes," Hermione said, letting a small, fake grin appear on her face. "It will be a few years after I take Jenna's place, of course. But I will make my move. I will be the first female minister of my age."

"An honest young witch such as you wanting a stressful position like that? It doesn't seem very feasible. . . ."

Hermione stood, staring down at him furiously. "It," she hissed, "is what I _want_."

Lucius crossed one leg over the other, balancing his cane on his knee. He looked up at the witch with something she took as admiration burning in his eyes. "And you'll get what you want, Hermione," he said softly. "If that is what you wish to have, then I will put you on top."

He let a small laugh escape his lips. "It makes more sense now. You may not be greedy as others think of the word, but you are." Before she could protest, he continued. "You're greedy for power. It's not wicked of you, Hermione. From what I've heard of you, you would take the Minister's position in stride, paving the way for a better future. You would also do anything to get to a place where you could aid people—even if you had to marry one of your worst enemies."

"You think too much of yourself, Lucius," Hermione interrupted. "You're not my worst enemy. My worst enemies are those tying the ropes around my ankles." She took a step forward, so that her legs were brushing against the wizard's chair, and the witch arched her neck, glaring down. "I can find other ways of reaching my goals, you know. Ways that don't involve you. However, they would take much longer, most of my life, in fact, and they would involve much more risk."

"More risk than this scandal of a marriage?"

"A scandal at first, maybe," Hermione answered. "But, in the end, it will earn me the vote of several old, powerful families, not to mention my muggle-born or muggle supporting majority." She bent down, eye level with the wizard. "Everything has a risk. Is partnership worth it, I wonder?"

Hermione almost stumbled back, feeling Lucius wrap a hand around her arm. He stood, holding to her and pulling her back to her full height, at his chest. The wizard held her close. "You tell me," he whispered.

Her body was shaking._ He's daring me. He wants to know if I'm playing him. . . ._ "I think so. . . If we both keep up our ends," she answered.

Lucius released her, snatching up the parchment and grabbing a quill out of his inkwell. He unrolled the contract, placing his graceful, long signature across the bottom. And then he held the quill out to the witch.

Hermione took it, looking down at the words. _'Resulting in one magically able heir' 'Shared vault for both husband and wife' 'Political and social influence resulting in highest position of European Wizarding government' 'No option of divorce. . . .": _Hermione's vision faded in and out, and, without realizing it, she had touched quill to parchment, her name appearing beside her future husband's.

Her knees weakened and she grasped onto the table before her, dropping the feather to the floor. Lucius put a hand at the small of her back, leading her toward the settee. The two of them set down slowly, so close that their shoulders touched.

Hermione felt a chill run down her spine. Her stomach lurched as she realized that it hurt just being this against a man other than Ron, a man who had only showed cruelty toward her friends in the past. It felt like she was stabbing herself, and that she couldn't stop. And the blade kept digging deeper and deeper.

Lucius slid down, bracing himself on his cane as he took to one knee, a look of mock sincerity on his face. "Hermione?" The witch looked down at him, frightened. "Hermione, will you be my bride?"

She opened her mouth to speak. Why was he doing this? Didn't the contract clarify their marriage enough? Hermione looked away, remembering a time when a certain red-head had approached her. He had been down on one knee, too. That time had been different.

_I was in love then._

Hermione nodded. "Yes."

Lucius smirked, as if pleased with her hesitation. He pulled himself back onto the settee. "The world will have to believe that this is genuine. Do you understand me? This must be executed properly but quickly. You will be my wife. And you must act as if you enjoy said position."

Lucius placed a finger under Hermione's chin, drawing her face up. Her lips molded the word 'quickly', but the wizard ignored her, his mouth parting as he leaned into her, pressing against her. Hermione took the kiss, gasping into him, feeling his hand wrap around her neck. Her body stiffened in a moment of fear, but his fingers found a spot to caress, right below her ear, his thump tracing her throat. Her face flushed, so hot that she could feel the heat radiating off of her eyes, making them form scalding tears that she refused to release.

She pushed him away. "Not yet," the witch shouted, almost falling off of the couch.

"You must learn to relax if anyone is to believe in our engagement," Lucius stated, his voice stern. It took Hermione a moment to realize that he was scolding her like a school girl. "However, you obviously need a few days to absorb your decision. Hopefully, we will not be forced to display our 'passion' openly before the wedding."

"Wedding. . . . How quickly will we be. . .?"

Lucius interrupted her, "Two weeks until the marriage, if all goes well. I should probably leak out word we have been secretly seeing one another for months and that I proposed at a private dinner a few days ago."

Hermione's mind was moving at the speed of light. And, yet, Malfoy seemed to be moving even faster. She hadn't expected it all to happen so soon. Of course, she realized when she wrote to him that he would lose the manor if he didn't take action soon, but. . . . Two weeks? "Two weeks? Arrangements. . . . I haven't. . . .That's. . . ."

"The risks are worth it, remember?" Lucius stated, his voice cold. "I recommend you leave now. As you mentioned, there are arrangements to be made—ones that I will be the one making. Come to the manor tomorrow night for dinner. I will be introducing you to your future step-son then."

Hermione felt her throat close. Draco Malfoy. She never thought she'd see the day when she'd be marrying a Malfoy, much less being a mother-figure to one. . .

"Then he won't know. . . About the contract?"

Lucius sneered at the thought of his son, standing. "He will have no say in this, and, therefore, needs not know the details. Nevertheless, he has some intelligent. I'm sure he'll figure it out. But he will not go public with the information. I can promise that much."

He walked toward the door, cane clicking rhythmically to keep to his pace. Then he was gone, not another word given. Hermione let out a shallow breath, wrapping her own arms around her. All her nerve evaporated in an instant and the waves came crashing down on her.

_What in Merlin's name have I just done?_


	5. Chapter 5

_**To Have, Not to Hold**_

**Chapter 5**

Hermione stared out the window, as gray and cold as the morning rain. She tried swallowing the lump in her throat, to no avail. Time was not making this any easier.

She had spent the entire night thinking. At some point she had drifted asleep, dreaming of the Malfoy Manor, more specifically the gently winding interior staircase. She was taking its steps slowly, never moving any further up, never able to reach the top. When the sound of her tea kettle hissing had awoken her, she'd felt exhausted. Yet she couldn't get another wink of sleep.

Now, dull post-dawn greeted her, almost sunless, hopeless.

The witch stood, crossing into her bedroom. She stopped at her dresser, staring down at the leather bound journal sitting there, a quill lying at its side. A tremor of fear shook her as she opened it, flipping to the center. To any other, it would look like a blank book, new, barely touch. The image was a false one.

When Harry had left the wizarding world, weary and anxious for a life more private than the title of 'savior' could ever grant him, he had decided that he would still need some link to the people he was leaving behind. Hermione had been confused when he'd first given her the diary because she had expected it to go to Ginny. But it made more sense this way. He could not leave Ginny with a reason to wait for him to return. He had to let her move on, completely without him.

The diary had been an idea he'd taken from Tom Riddle, strangely enough. It was a form of two-way communication. If Hermione ever wanted to reach him, she needed only jot down a few sentences, and he would write her back in the journal's twin, the book which he kept with him.

Hermione picked up her quill, hesitantly bringing it down onto the page.

_Harry, I need to talk to you, but I don't know how to begin. I've made a decision, one that may or may not have been very intelligent. _

_The Order is at a standstill, even though there are frequent Death Eater attacks now taking place, under the leadership of a dark wizard called the Priest. We have no new information coming in, and no one plans on taking action. Yesterday, I did something on my own, something rather dangerous. You won't like it, Harry. In fact, you may hate me after you find out. _

_Harry, how did you know what lines to cross when you did battle with Voldemort? Was everything so black and white as people make it out to be? As you requested, I haven't contacted you very frequently. But, now, I must hear from you. Please, when you check your journal, write back._

The paragraphs faded away, leaving only yellowed parchment behind. She waited for an answer, but none appeared. That didn't mean anything—after all, she doubted that Harry looked at the book regularly. Perhaps he was off on a walk, oblivious to her letter. Or maybe he just didn't care anymore.

It would be easiest if he didn't reply. It would mean that he would not be one of her persecutors. She was a bright witch, one of the brightest, actually, so she knew that her actions would stir up hate.

Hermione collapsed back down onto her couch, fingers tangled in her hair as she bowed her head, holding back her fears, the most direct ones concerning her family, both the Grangers and Weasleys. She couldn't tell them the truth. That would take away the entire point. In fact, she didn't plan on notifying the Order of the Phoenix at all. Would any of them ever speak to her again once they found out that she was planning to marry Lucius Malfoy?

A tapping brought her gaze back up. Hermione all but ran to the window, unlatching it so that the delivery owl could enter. She ignored the bird, staring instead at the morning paper now lying on the coffee table.

"It wouldn't be in there so soon," she assured herself, but her stomach did back flips as she picked up the Monday edition.

The headliner was an article on the rise in violence of late, but her eyes skipped the statistics, going to the bottom right hand corner where the name Malfoy stood out like blood on cotton.

_**Possible Scandal or Domestic Troubles: What Fates the Name of Malfoy**_

"Oh, for Merlin's sake," Hermione hissed, reading the caption. The first paragraph began with a new account of the death of Narcissa Malfoy.

'_The late Mrs. Narcissa Malfoy may not have been a Malfoy after all. Recent investigations into the tragic death of the socialite have revealed that Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy had filed for divorce some months earlier, though the separation itself was not going to be made public until after the annual follow-up trial for Mr. Draco Malfoy, concerning the crimes he committed some years back as a minor. _

'"_We thought that staying together a bit longer would present a better outlook to the jury, so Narcissa and I had came to a mutual agreement about the separation," Mr. Lucius Malfoy commented at an interview late Sunday afternoon. "We kept our secrets for our son's sake."_

_However, the Malfoy divorce may not have been such an innocent separation. Several sources, previously kept quiet before Mrs. Narcissa Malfoy's departure, claim to have evidence of numerous affairs within the broken marriage. _

'_Lucius Malfoy had this to say about the accusations: "Narcissa was a very level headed woman. After we agreed to separate, she suggested that our temporary charade as husband and wife not keep us from moving on with our lives, but, as to whether or not she ever actually took advantage of her notion, I do not know for sure. However, I did have my suspicions."_

'_When asked about his own love life, Mr. Malfoy gave no comment, but sources suggest that the elder Malfoy may not be clear of infidelities. . . .'_

Hermione tore away from the article, eyes wide. "So that's how he's going to play it," she stated, slamming down the paper. "That's what he meant about the private engagement and the _months_ of being together. He's making me into the 'other' woman!"

She shook here head, lips pursed in outrage. Nevertheless, she knew that what Lucius had done would probably sound more convincing than a sudden, out of nowhere, engagement. It was actually rather brilliant, even if it did hurt her pride.

"That snake!" she snapped.

He had developed this wild tale in a matter of hours after their meeting. Obviously, Mr. Malfoy was cleverer than she'd thought, or, perhaps, he was simply proficient at covering one scandal with another.

There was a loud knocking at the door of her flat. Hermione's eyes flew to her clock. It was only a few minutes past seven. Even so, Ginny would already be at work, and Hermione herself wasn't expected in the office until nine. Brow raised, she walked to the door.

"Who is it?" she asked, somewhat nervously.

She had placed a ward around her flat, after much persuasion from Mr. Weasley, that was supposed to alert her if someone meaning her harm was attempting to enter her home. Even though no alarm went off, she was still anxious when opening the door. After all, it wouldn't take very much for someone to throw a hex at her from outside.

"No one, open the door," came the swift reply.

"Lucius?" Hermione asked, recognizing his distinctly aristocratic tone.

She slowly unlocked her door.

Lucius Malfoy walked in without another word, quickly closing the entrance behind him. With one swift movement, he sat his cane down against the wall and grabbed hold of Hermione's waist, pulling her to him so quickly that she lost her breath. He lifted her slightly, pushing her into the living room until the back of her legs hit her couch.

"What the hell are you. . . .?"

Hermione didn't have time to finish. She tripped back over the padded arm, the wizard landing on top over her, his mouth covering hers, sucking every last drop of oxygen out of her as he ravaged her lips.

The witch struggled beneath him, attempting to turn her head and find her wand. A bright flash of light blinded her for a moment, shocking her into another second of submission before she raised her knees as one, pushing Lucius, legs first, off of the couch and onto the floor.

Hermione coughed, a hand on her bruised sternum where his robe's clasp had pressed into her. She rolled onto her side, glaring down at the wizard. A part of her expected him to have his wand out, spitting out the details of his trickery as he threatened to kill her. Instead, he was wearing a small smirk.

"What was that?" Hermione screeched. "What did you think you were doing?!"

"Forgive me for such rude behavior, but it was necessary," he explained, bracing himself on her short table to help himself off of the floor. "If I'd told you beforehand, I doubt very much it would look believable."

"What do you mean. . . .?" Her voice broke as his cold gaze caught her, the hint of amusement in the gray depths. "That flash of light?"

"Was a camera being levitated outside your window," he explained. "Don't worry. I doubt very much that shot will make it into the papers. However, sources do need proof of their information, if the newspapers are to take them seriously. Note that tonight, when you arrive at the manor, there will most likely be some random pauper who spots you entering my home and reports the sighting to the Daily Profit. Two sources are one more than most papers need to run a gossip article."

"Were you planning to tell me about your little plans?" Hermione snapped, quickly standing. "I read your little 'leak' a few minutes ago. You're making me into your mistress."

"All your years in the public's eye and you're still so naïve," Lucius commented. He crossed the room, straightening his robe as he took up her serpentine cane, leaning on it to address the young woman. "Perception is truth, Hermione. The wrong words can turn you into a crimson woman, I suppose, but I will be feeding those reporters the right words. Do you forget? I have already told them about an arrangement to see other people made by two consenting adults who were, as documents suggest, separated. When they find out about Narcissa's numerous affairs and our own romantic engagement, the press will be more than happy to paint us as the most powerful couple to greet the wizarding world in years. As long as you do as I ask, I can make the next two weeks of our lives pain free."

Hermione looked away from him, shaking her head as an argument waged in her mind. It was so easy to let him take control in this instance. He did seem to know what he was doing.

"Narcissa never had an affair, did she? That's another lie."

The wizard let out a shallow breath, head cocked as he took in her words. "That's not important. As I said, Hermione, it's all based on perception. A lie, correctly woven, is more believable than the truth. You must realize as much."

Hermione glanced up at him. "I'm in politics," she answered. She crossed her arms, hoping to cover the indignity she felt for agreeing with the wizard. "What now?"

"You come to dinner as planned," Lucius replied. He turned his back, taking the door knob as he looked over his shoulder. "Your part, for the next few days, should be almost effortless. When your name appears beside mine, you life will change somewhat. Until that time, behave normally. See your friends and family, go to work, smile, laugh, read. . . . Soon, the act will be over."

He closed the door behind him, a pop sounding as soon as he entered the hallway. Hermione frowned at her empty flat. "The act is just beginning, Lucius."


	6. Chapter 6

**IMPORTANT A/N: Firstly, my apologies for the extremely long delay. Secondly, I have adapted this story to include back story from the seventh book (except for the epilogue, of course, which would be hard to use in this case). The changes I made in earlier chapters were not important to the plot (bits of back story), so you don't have to reread unless you want to; however, future chapters may have spoilers for those who may not have finished HPatDH yet. Hopefully everyone has though. **

_**To Have, Not to Hold**_

**Chapter 6**

_What did you do, Hermione?_

_I know about the Priest. News comes in, even where I am, but your message is more troubling than those reports._

_It's never black and white. And the lines don't seem to exist when you're fighting, Herm. You're too smart to ask those questions—you already know the answers, which makes me wonder . . . What's happened? What have you done? _

_Please, tell me. I could never hate you, Hermione, but I certainly can't help you if you won't tell me what you're planning. I understand your frustration with the Order—you should recall that I'm the one who decided to get out of our world. But you can still talk to me, even if I'm not around. _

_--HP_

For the second time in as many days, Hermione found herself standing within the towering walls of Malfoy manor. It was an improbable situation. That alone left her with a strange feeling of delusion. But the drop in the pit of her stomach came from the man beside her, guiding her toward the dining hall with a gentle hand on the small of her back. He released her into a high-backed chair, pushing her into place in front of a silver setting.

Lucius silently made his way to the opposite end of the table. There was the ghost of a smile on the man's face, and Hermione was certain it was due to the noise they had heard when she'd entered the manor—the _Prophet's_ other source reporting her presence on the arm of _the_ Lucius Malfoy. Scandalous. As planned.

The wizard probably would have commented on her performance had the "couple" been alone.

Hermione could feel those familiar gray eyes piercing her somewhere at shoulder level. His eyes were as intrusive as his father's, but Draco's. . . Draco's gaze was paler, angry and defeated and somewhat helpless all at once. And they were hidden. His blond hair had, at least, been washed but was not combed back, its long length covering most of his face. Even so, Hermione could see the tightness around his jaw and wondered how he was able to keep his hatred in check, his infamous tongue in his mouth.

_Something Lucius has told him, most likely_, Hermione reasoned. Lucius was one father who, even in this modern age, took to heart his role as Lord of the Manor, holding dominion over son as he would another other object in his home. Still, knowing instinctively that Lucius was in control, it was hard for Hermione to see a silent Draco. In fact, she had barely noticed him at all, sitting so quietly at his father's end of the table when she'd first stepped through the doors.

_The dog will bark when his master commands it, I suppose,_ Hermione silently huffed, instantly feeling sheepish. Was the character she was presently playing, any better?

"How is the Ministry treating you, Hermione?" Lucius asked. His eyes had darted to his sown when he'd paused to say her first name.

Hermione saw Draco's pointed chin shake as his lips opened and closed with little more than the sound of a breath escaping.

"I'm sorry, did you say something, Draco?" Lucius cocked his head, obviously more interested in the young man's rely than he was Hermione's. "Do speak up."

"Same as always," Hermione piped, interrupting the growing tension. "Jenna will be gone most of the month—the Minister fowled up our situation with China in his appearance last week, and now the Chinese are threatening to withdraw from the treaty."

Lucius nodded, dutifully listening. "When will we have a Minister with a brain, I wonder?" he sighed with a twitch of a grin.

"Soon. Soon enough, I'd venture," Hermione answered, somewhat amused. He was an actor, Lucius. "Anyhow, I spent the last few days preparing Jenna for her presentation with the Chinese council—she's especially favored by several of their elders, so the Minister, of course, wants her to clean up his mess. I won't be attending the talks this time, as I've done in the past. Jenna's afraid that this deal might take several weeks of back and forth negotiations, and she needs someone to pass her reports off to."

"How unfortunate. I'm sure the ambassador would have enjoyed hosting our announcement party." Lucius frowned but his disappoint didn't remain. "Of course, we were planning on a smaller gathering for the actual wedding, so it's nothing to reschedule over—actually, it might work out better this way."

Hermione felt it, still hanging in the air, a word, perfectly placed: wedding. Men like Lucius did not ramble. He had decorated his comment with purpose.

Draco's head darted up.

"Wedding. . ." the young man hissed.

"Ah, yes." Lucius stood, walking to the end of the table. He settled behind Hermione, a hand on her shoulder, a family portrait. "Since you are still living here, Hermione and I feel it proper to let you be one of the first to know that we. . ."

A short burst of laughter cut off the man's voice. Draco's shoulders were shaking.

"That's your scheme then?" Draco's laughter ceased, as quickly as it had began. The wizard threw up his arm, sweeping off the barren setting before him, utensils clattering to the floor. "You're fools," he said, his voice almost calm.

Lucius didn't move but to tighten his fingers on Hermione's shoulder, as if asking her not to stand, not to add to the spectacle. "Now, now, Draco," the older wizard chided with a cool, patronizing tone of voice she recognized. Hermione could almost hear a condescending chuckle within his words. "If you keep that up," he continued, "I'll have to dismiss you before supper."

Draco shot up from his seat.

Hermione's body tensed, her hand in her wand pocket. But the wizard didn't charge toward her, only glaring down the table at the witch. "You're an idiot if you think this will. . . You don't know. If you knew, you would never have come to this place," Draco sneered, as if she had spoken, as if she had told him he was wrong.

"You are dismissed," Lucius said, his voice as low as a whisper.

Draco shook his head, gripping his hair with one hand as if he could rip the scalp from the bone. His teeth were showing, clenched, stopping whatever comment that existed over his tongue. He released a grunt of frustration and quickly crossed the room, slamming the dining hall doors shut behind him.

Hermione could hear herself breathing, heavily. She didn't know why the wizard's antics had sent chills down her arms. She'd known he'd do as his master commanded, after all.

Still, this was not the Draco Malfoy she'd known.

"You'll have to forgive him." Lucius leaned over her shoulder, tapping her goblet with his wand. It filled with something dark and cold.

Hermione heard Draco's thunderous footsteps, fading away into the depths of the manor.

"You did that on purpose," she accused. "You didn't even plan a dinner, did you? You just wanted to get a rise out of your son."

"Oh, Hermione. What sort of a gentleman do you take me for?" His hand slid softly, slowly from her shoulder. "Of course, I had dinner planned. For two."

_

* * *

_

_Tap._

_Tap. Tap_.

Hermione opened her eyes lazily, a moment of confusion washing over her. She'd fallen asleep on her sofa the night before, still in her bathrobe. She didn't know why she'd chosen not to greet her bed.

_Tap_.

The witch sat up, glancing over her shoulder. An owl fluttered at the window impatient.

"Just you hold it," she commanded with a drawl, plucking a coin from a side table and standing with a stretch. She walked to the window and cracked it open. The owl swept in, dropping off her paper and taking the fee from her fingertips in one swift movement.

She wanted tea. And she would have put on the kettle, had her clouded eyes not found the name Malfoy glaring at her from the front page of the _Daily Prophet._

And then, she found her own: Hermione Granger Weasley, assistant ambassador to Jenna Tompkins and widow of well-known auror Ronald Weasley, was seen. . .

"Shit."

A booming knock sounded from outside her door, and the paper slipped from Hermione's hands, fluttering to the floor. It came again, an apprehensive series of chirps, followed by a voice almost as annoying: "Excuse me, Ms. Weasley. Are you in, Ms. Weasley?"

Flauntus Piper, of the weekly column "Piper's Pips". Rita Skeeter's understudy, the young gentleman the vicious reporter almost unforgivably sent to Hermione anytime gossip was needed from her division of the Ministry. Rita, these days, never appeared directly to Hermione, sending her handsome, chipmunk-like yes-man instead to get the juice.

Hermione could only imagine one reason why he would be here.

"Ms. Weasley, I know you're in there—I can see your shadow under the door. I'm here concerning your relationship with Mr. Lucius Malfoy. Don't you want your side of the story out there, Ms. Weasley? Ms. Weasley?"

Hermione walked back to her bedroom, not caring if Flauntus heard her footsteps and only vaguely aware that her neighbors were probably hearing the commotion outside her door. She had other things on her mind at the time. Like the hundred or so other people she knew who were probably opening up their papers with their morning brew in one hand.

They would have found out soon enough anyhow. But, still, Lucius said it would take longer, a few days. . . This was just too fast. Hermione had planned to get some work done for Jenna before all hell broke loose amongst the gossipers. Hermione'd planned to tell the people she cared about before the papers told the whole story.

Why the hell had she listened to Lucius anyhow? She had the brains. She should have known the paper would try to hop on the specifics as soon as possible.

Hermione slammed her bedroom door shut, turning the courtesy lock. The robes she'd worn to Malfoy manor were still on her bed, her wand laid atop them. She had left them there the night before, too lazy to even clean them before she'd fallen asleep on the sofa outside, with the nagging idea of reading a book to calm her nerves.

The evening at the manor had been. . . odd. Hermione hadn't been sure what she'd expected when Draco had stormed out of the dining room. Lucius, though, must have had some clue because he'd picked up as if it was normal, as if it was real, their dinner for two. It had felt real. . .

Hermione frowned. It had felt like a night between two people who already knew one another, dining with idle chatter, nothing which told of their lives, their pasts, no first date material. Had anyone been watching, they would have thought that the couple settled down for a boring meal every evening, enjoying only the presence of one another and fine food.

Lucius hadn't kissed her when she'd left. The reporters must have been gone. The lesson, learned.

Hermione opened her wardrobe and pulled out a crisp navy blouse and a matching, knee-length skirt. They were plain, the color submissive. They weren't favorites, but she didn't have the strength to care about clothing. Something normal was her mantra, something everyday that people at work won't notice.

_I don't want to be noticed._ She knew that was an aimless venture. Hermione's torrid affair with a recently widowed _Malfoy_ would be the hot topic, no doubt.

The heartbeat was loud. A part of her was panicking, another laughing at her nervous reaction. Honestly, this was what she was expecting. This was her plan, in action. Still, the reality was, at last, sinking in.

She was scared.

"Hermione? Hermione, where are you?"

The sound of two pops had registered, but Hermione hadn't realized that they were apparitions and not knocks at her door until a familiar voice called out her name.

"Mum, calm down—she may not even be here. She's probably at work already," said a second voice. "Just be rational."

"Rational? Rational, Ginerva? Did you even read this?"

They were outside, probably in the living room Hermione had just fled. Hermione recognized the voices instantly. They belonged to Molly and Ginny Weasley.

"Merlin's beard," Hermione breathed. She reached down, clasping tightly to her wand, anxiously stepping forward and back again.

"Hermione?" It was Ginny this time. Hermione didn't answer her call.

_I can't. . . I can't right now. Not yet. It's too soon. _

She would go. She'd have to go, somewhere without those accusations, anywhere. She saw her door knob turn and closed her eyes, apparating to the first place that came to mind.


End file.
